Locked
by ArtVandelayIndustries
Summary: A sudden blackout leaves Carrie and Quinn locked inside the observation room. As they wait for the power to come back on, they try not to kill each other.


It's only by the time she gets through her third stack of papers that Carrie realizes the observation room has significantly emptied.

Most of the team had been called to untangle the piles of paperwork that a recent computer error managed to mess up, but it seemed like quite a few of them were trying to get the job done as quickly as possible. And while a part of her is tempted to the same, Carrie finds that she can't help but do the job right. Her inner perfectionist would expect nothing less of her. And maybe that's not a bad thing because once she gets focused, nothing seems to get between her and the goal.

When she finally raises her head from the stack of papers that is now organized and neat, Carrie sees that the room is empty, except for Quinn. And his presence ticks her off. She would've wanted to be the last one there to slip out of sight, without having to chit chat about things that don't interest her. But he's there, so she tries to be decent.

"You done for the night?" Carrie asks, slipping papers into their respective folders.

He shakes his head. "Estes made me rewrite almost everything I handed him two weeks ago. Turns out writing in shorthand isn't considered professional."

She wonders if he's joking or not, but finds that asking would only open a door to conversation. So, instead she just says, "Well, have a good one."

Carrie tidies up the remaining files and pockets her phone. She then slips on her jacket and rolls the chair under the desk. And as soon as she does, the lights go out. She freezes in her spot for a few moments, trying to understand what happened. Why the backup generator isn't kicking in. She turns to her right when a single blue light comes on and bathes the room in an ominous glow.

"I guess this means my job is done for the night too?" Quinn says.

"Why isn't the backup generator working?"

"Probably the same reason we had this computer error in the first place. Our tech guys are awful at their job."

Carrie sighs deeply and heads for the door. But once she's there, her hand freezes on the handle. "Shit."

"What?"

"Electronic lock."

And the realization dawns on him too. "Damnit."

"It's okay, I'll get in touch with Saul and he'll get us out of here." Carrie grabs her phone from her pocket but stops short when she brings up the contacts list. "Does your phone have a signal?"

Quinn frowns as he checks his phone. "No. They must be running a test or something."

"What kind of test would require blocking out a cell phone signal?"

"You forget that we work for the _CIA_? It's all secrets and whispers around here."

"But we're not exactly at the bottom of the food chain here. We're entitled to know about it." Carrie turns her attention back to the door and slams her fist against it a few times. "Hello, anyone out there?"

There are faint voices outside saying something, but it's hard to catch.

"Could you repeat that?" she yells.

"... trying to get it fixed... hang in there..."

"Why is our signal jammed?"

This time the reply seems to come from so far away that she has to struggle to hear it. And the answer doesn't please her.

"What did they say?" Quinn asks.

"That it's not them."

He says nothing, and just leans back in his chair, thinking.

"You don't believe that, do you?" Carrie asks. "Phone signals don't just spontaneously get jammed. Something's going on."

"Maybe some kids got hold of a jammer and are using it outside the building."

"And they also happened to cut off our power?"

"It's probably just a coincidence."

She takes a deep breath and runs a hand through her hair. "So we're just expected to stay locked in here until they can get the power back on?"

"Looks like it."

"Well that's bullshit, I have a whole evening planned out."

"Got a date?" he asks, an eyebrow raised.

That's enough to send her annoyance up a couple of notches. "Why? Because if I don't have one and just want to spend time with my family, then my anger isn't warranted?"

Quinn looks at her, amused. "You don't have a date."

She resumes her wandering, determined not to let him anger her even more. "Great" she mumbles under her breath. "So we're stuck here. And it's so damn dark I can barely see where I'm walking."

"It's not so bad. It's a lot like being on stakeout in the middle of the night."

Carrie's attention is suddenly directed towards the blue light above the door. "Isn't that light supposed to be red? Emergency lights are red."

He shrugs slightly. "I don't know, maybe Estes likes blue."

"It's not up to preference, red is standard."

"And rules can be bent."

"No, they can't. It's supposed to be red."

Quinn sighs. "Carrie, let it go. It's just a light."

"It's suspicious."

"You're worrying yourself over nothing. Just stay put and relax. They'll sort this out in a minute."

"But it's-"

"Carrie."

She lets it go, not because her suspicions are gone, but because her self awareness is overwriting her paranoia. Carrie takes a few breaths and struggles to relax, tries to empty her head. But it's not working. She can't stop pacing the room and mumbling aggravated remarks under her breath. And she knows Quinn's eyes must be on her and she's looking like she's lost it, but there's no helping it. It's late and she's miles away from her pills and home and routine. And it's getting to her.

"You really don't like being forced to stay put, huh?" Quinn asks.

"It's not being stuck what bothers me so much, it's the fact that I'm stuck with you and your questions."

She didn't plan for it to sound so rude, but Carrie knows that Quinn is hard to offend or upset. Almost annoyingly so.

"I always figured you dislike everyone except Saul and Virgil" he says "but your current level of hate is a bit too off-putting."

"It's not hate, it's..." she struggles to find the right word, "I don't know, something else."

"Hate is pretty hard to confuse with anything else. Well, except maybe fear." And just like that the penny drops. "You're scared of me?"

She shakes her head at that, and only says "You're a wild card."

"So are you."

He's got a point, but it's not like she'd ever admit it. "I do what I have to in order to get the job done."

"And I don't?"

"You came here out of fucking thin air, and you disappear the same way at the drop of a hat." Carrie pauses. "Saul told me about how you once suddenly left in the middle of a mission because, _apparently_, you stepped in as an FBI liaison."

"It wasn't _apparently_, I really did help them."

She rolls her eyes. "Right."

"Estes gave me the okay."

"Well Estes is a fucking wildcard too."

"It's nice to see that you have such high opinions of the people you work with."

"I'm just calling it like it is" she says, waving it off.

"No, you lash out when something's bothering you."

"Because maybe that's the fucking normal way people react."

He sighs and gestures towards her empty chair. "Will you please just take a seat and try to calm down? You're making me nervous."

She decides that maybe Quinn's right, so she sits down, and tries to get comfortable. To anyone else it would be dark and quiet enough to kick back and relax. But Carrie's hands refuse to calm down. Her fingers keep moving, fidgeting incessantly like they have a mind of their own. And they're picking at the skin around her nails.

But what truly bothers her is Quinn's demeanor. Now that her eyes have adjusted to the dark she can tell that he's staring at the wall in front of him with completely calm and indifference. It's almost robotic.

"Well shit" he says suddenly, his eyes still on the wall.

"What?"

"I was right, I really do give you the creeps."

She frowns. "How do you figure that?"

"You keep giving me these glances, like I'm about to jump up and slit your throat at any moment."

Carrie doesn't deny it. Instead she simply says, "You're not the type of person who cares about what others think."

"I don't. But I'm curious."

"I told you, you're a wildcard."

"Who could kill a coworker?"

She opens her mouth to say something but changes her mind at the last second and shakes her head. But to him, the massage is clear: _I wouldn't put it past you._

"You could do it too, you know" he says nonchalant.

She turns her head and stares. "I'm sorry?"

"Self preservation, Carrie. If you're presented with the proper circumstances, you'd kill anyone that was in the same room as you. Sure, you might hesitate - we all would - but in the end the idea's the same: everyone wants to stay alive no matter what."

"That's a load of bullshit."

Carrie's eyes widen the second she hears herself say it, but it's too late now to take it back. She waits tensely for a few moments, waits for him to inquire why she would imply her mental state isn't proper. That living isn't exactly at the top of her list.

But the seconds tick by, and the question never comes.

"I don't know why I said that" she eventually offers as an explanation.

Silence.

"I mean I guess I'm just too tired. It's been a long day and the stress is getting to me."

More silence.

"Jesus, will you just say something?"

Quinn presses his lips together. "I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"That once we're out of here you won't go ratting me out about how I just confessed to having a weak motivation to live."

"I won't say anything."

"I'll deny it anyway. Not that I have anything to deny since I only said that because I'm stressed." The jacket that's on her back is suddenly too tight, and Carrie takes it off before throwing it on a desk nearby. "It's hard not to say all kind of shit when you're locked in a room. I'm fucking climbing the walls here." She pauses to look at him. "How are you so calm anyway?"

"Both of us have worked surveillance a lot of times. We're used to sitting around and waiting for something to happen." His eyebrow goes up slightly, as if to ask why she's not relaxed as well.

And she knows why, of course, but can't say it. Because it's late in the day and without her medication, Carrie needs to follow a routine, which she can't do while being locked up in a room with someone else. She needs to exercise, needs to meditate and - most embarrassing of all - to sing. Carrie wonders for a second the reaction she could muster out of him if she began to hum a song out of the blue.

"You know" Quinn says, breaking the silence, "some old saying goes that time flies when you're having fun."

She looks at him from the corner of her eye, annoyed. "And you're implying what exactly?"

"Okay, you really need to stop being so defensive and pissed off by everything."

"It's past 9PM on a Saturday and I'm stuck in this fucking room. I think I'm allowed to be pissed off."

"We'd all like to be somewhere else right now, trust me."

She rolls her eyes. "Let me guess, a booty call with some ER nurse."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a female resident."

Carrie sighs and shakes her head.

"I'm just saying that you really need to learn how to decompress once in a while."

"Why, because of what I said in the interrogation room about wanting Brody to leave his wife for me? I thought it was obvious that I was playing him."

"Didn't seem like that from where I was standing."

She turns her chair so that she's facing him. "You really think you know everything there is about people, don't you? You're just a godamn analyst, not a shrink."

"And you're getting all defensive over nothing. It's barely been a few minutes since the doors locked."

Carrie thinks for a moment and tries to come up with a realistic sounding excuse. But all she can think to offer as an explanation is: "I'm just stressed."

Quinn looks at her from the corner of his eye. "Yeah, you keep saying that. Which is weird because it's Saturday and all we were doing was some paperwork."

"Well not everyone can be a fucking Zen master like you all the damn time."

"I can't believe I'm saying this" he says, rubbing his head "but I'd rather be stuck in this room with Vergil and his awkward brother."

Carrie rolls her eyes. "And I'd rather be stuck with Estes."

"I'm serious. At least with them I could swap war stories without having my head bitten off. Or we could play 'I never' or something."

"What are we, in high school?" she asks. "There's no alcohol in here anyway."

Quinn turns away slightly. "Not that you know of."

For a moment she thinks he's kidding, but his serious expression makes her think otherwise. And when she follows his gaze she realizes what he's looking at.

"Your coffee thermos" she says in disbelief, "really?"

He just shrugs. "Sometimes surveillance gets mind-numbingly boring."

"Quinn, we're supposed to be professionals."

"Says the CIA officer who slept with a terrorist."

There's nothing to say to that because he's right, so she just mumbles "Fucking asshole..." under her breath.

"Like I said, Vergil and Max wouldn't bite my head off."

She sighs and tucks her hair behind her ears. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I'm just tense."

A weak smile unexpectedly appears on his features. "You know how people used to de-tense in the old days?"

"Quinn, I swear to god, if you say-"

"Fighting."

Carrie surprises herself for a second when she lets out a laugh.

"I'm serious. A little physical violence will get your mind off things, pass the time. Plus, it's fun."

"Even if that's true, it doesn't make it a good idea."

"I think it's a fantastic idea." And just like that Quinn stands and starts stretching his arms. "Come on, Mathison. Show me what moves you've got."

"I'm no fighting you" she says, still feeling the need to laugh.

"You just admitted to being tense. And you're annoyed and annoying me. It's a win-win."

"You're an analyst."

"And you think you can kick my ass?"

"I know I can."

He raises an eyebrow. "Then show me what you've got."

But she shakes her head and remains firmly sitting. And she thinks that's the end of that, but Quinn doesn't seem that easy to convince. He heads over to her, places one foot on her chair and easily sends it rolling towards the center of the room. He walks after her and stops a foot before her chair, as if the room has suddenly become a boxing ring.

And any reservations Carrie felt she had instantly vanish when she notices the confident look on his face. She gets off the chair, rolls it out of the way, and then calmly takes a few steps towards the middle of the room.

"All right" she says, stretching out her arms, "just don't go crying to Saul or Estes when you end up on the floor."

He touches his chest. "Cross my heart."

"Don't you need to have one before you can say that?"

"If that's your version of smack talk, then you need a serious-"

Carrie sends her right fist towards his jaw, and for a second she almost regrets putting all her strength into it. But her fist is quickly caught by his hand. She freezes for a moment, surprised.

Things suddenly got interesting.

Carrie aims for his ribs next, but he blocks that attack too. His movements are so precise and robotic that she decides to put a bit of a distance between them until she can focus back up again.

"So acting as liaison for the FBI gets you free karate lessons?" she asks, as they circle around the room.

He shakes his head a fraction. "I guess I must've picked up a few things when I had jobs in the Middle East."

"You have a lot of experience fighting in the desert?"

"Maybe."

"Does Saul know about this?"

Quinn thinks for a moment. "He knows I can hold my own in a fight."

"Then why didn't he mention it to me?"

He smiles again. "He probably didn't expect this scenario to ever transpire."

Quinn easily reduces the distance between then in two steps and aims a punch for her face, but he's too hesitant. Carrie easily blocks it. He's holding back and the sight pisses her off so much that she kicks him in the stomach. Quinn tries to dodge it, but he's unsuccessful, and he stumbles backwards.

"No fair" he says, straightening his stance. "Heels."

She gives into instinct and looks down at her feet, trying to remember what shoes she put on in the morning. But the moment her gaze returns to Quinn, she finds that he's not there anymore. Carrie catches the rustle behind her and she raises an arm as she turns around.

She catches the hit in her arm and the force of the blow sends her to the floor. She falls on her back, angry and annoyed but in the process manages to kick him in the right leg as hard as she can. Quinn stumbles backwards and hits the wall.

"If you plan to fight dirty, I'm keeping the heels" Carrie says, getting to her feet.

He also gets to his feet as quickly as her, and she's taken aback when he doesn't bother circling around or planning moves anymore. He just sends punches and this time Carrie can tell that he's not longer holding back. She's now actively trying to block them, trying to keep up. It's all a blur of motion and she can't register exactly what is happening, but it feels odd. Almost like they're in sync.

The haze breaks when her back hits a wall, so she elbows him in the stomach instinctively. When he's distracted by the hit, Carrie realizes she has a perfect opening, but her fist feels awkward and she pulls her punch at the last moment.

She braces for whatever hit that has to come, but Quinn hesitates. So she takes the chance and knocks his feet from under him. He hits the floor hard and sends dust into the air around them.

The room falls silent for a moment and Carrie carefully walks around, waiting for him to jump up. But he doesn't.

"I think you won" Quinn says, taking breaths.

She shakes her head. "Get up."

"I'd rather stay down for a while."

"You let me win."

"You beat me fair and square, Carrie."

"You let me win. Rematch."

He eyes her from the floor. "You pulled your last punch too."

Carrie falls quiet. He's right yet again, and it's infuriating because she hates being called on things. But instead of arguing she walks over and helps him up.

"I wasn't kidding" he says, grabbing her hand to get into a sitting position, "I think I'll just stick close to the floor for a while."

She nods along and sits down on the ground next to him, leaning on the wall behind them. They're both tired and still a bit aggravated by the situation, so they sit in companionable silence for a while. But for how long, Carrie isn't sure. She doesn't bother checking her phone because, oddly enough, her hands have stopped shaking. And she's feeling strangely relaxed.

But as time crawls, the question on both their minds soon becomes _now what?_

"So you'd swap war stories if you were here with Virgil instead of me" Carrie says, pensive.

Quinn nods. "I used to do this all the time with the team when I was in the Middle East." He pauses. "Why, are you up for it?"

She glances at the single blue light. "There's not a lot to do until the power comes back on."

He waits a moment before tentatively saying, "So a popular one is 'what's the worse thing you've ever done?"

Carrie's face darkens considerably and she shakes her head. "I don't think I want to play this game, I changed my mind."

"I bet you'll change it back."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "You're very competitive. All I have to do is nudge that side of you until you crack. Like how I made you throw the first punch earlier."

"I retract my earlier apology" she says, "you're still an asshole."

"All right, look, I'll go first." He takes a breath. "The worst thing I've ever done is leaving Philly for two weeks when my then-girlfriend called with a pregnancy scare."

All Carrie can do is stare at him with a look of horror and surprise.

"I was nineteen" he says as if it explains everything, "it was a long time ago."

"So what happened?"

"It was just a scare. And when I came back, her mother hit me with a tennis racket."

Despite herself, Carrie lets out a short laugh. "Can't say you didn't earn it."

"It did help cement the idea that running from responsibility isn't a good tactic."

She nods along as a pause hangs between them.

"Carrie."

"What?"

"It's your turn."

She shakes her head again. "I told you, I changed my mind."

"Carrie, we're just two people talking to pass the time. I don't know what you're scared of."

"I guess I'm just not so big on sharing."

"I hate to imagine being the therapist who did our mandatory check last month."

Carrie lets out a dismissive sound. "Just because I'm not a fan of taking about personal things doesn't make me closed off."

"I think that's actually the definition of being closed off."

"Like you're one to talk" she says, frowning at him, "you're a walking mystery."

"So far I've answered everything you wanted to know, but I can't even get one story out of you."

"Then just let it go."

"It's not even a big deal, we're just talking."

"Maybe I'm too tired for that."

He looks at her in disbelief. "You're seriously using that as an excuse when you just kicked my ass ten minutes ago?"

But she stubbornly shakes her head.

"Come on, Carrie, are you that repressed that you can't open up enough to share one story?"

"I'm not repressed."

"Then just talk to me."

She looks ahead, trying to ignore him.

"_Carrie_."

"All right" she says, if anything than to shut him up. "You want a story? Fine. I slept with Estes."

She says it quick, as if she can't wait to get it out in the open and move on. Liking ripping off a band aid.

"Carrie" Quinn begins, "the way this works is if you say things that are _true_."

She turns to look at him, her expression stony.

"But Estes was..."

"Married, yeah. Was."

Silence follows, the room falling in a veil of nothing but sounds of footsteps echoing outside their door. And the eerie feeling between them causes Carrie to regret her confession.

"So you slept with two married men" Quinn says eventually.

"You can say it. I know. I'm a homewrecker."

"Though, in your defense, Brody's marriage was plenty wrecked before you walked in."

"Thanks. I guess."

"Not that it helps make the list of unavailable people you slept with any more glamorous."

She looks at him with one eyebrow raised. "As if your list is any better."

"That's... something I'm taking to my grave."

"What about what happened that day the FBI wanted your help? That a secret too?"

He sighs and slumps further down the wall he's been leaning on. "You're still on that."

Carrie just looks at him expectant.

"Last time I asked you something touchy, you said that sort of talk doesn't work unless we're 'girlfriends'."

She frowns . "All right, we're girlfriends, then."

"Careful, that's a two-way street."

"I'm aware. So tell me what the FBI wanted with you."

"They wanted me to keep an eye on your good pal Brody."

"And that's the FBI's matter because...?"

"They have their own agenda. Unfortunately they don't give me the details, so I just do as I'm told."

"So that's it, the feds wanted you to play babysitter."

"That's it."

She sighs and rubs her head, feeling the frustration coming back. "If it's classified you could've just said so. You didn't have to make up a lie."

He frowns at her. "Why do you always feel like people are lying to you?"

And just like that, Carrie's hands start moving on their own again. "Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?" she asks, her tone tense and angry.

"What? No, I wouldn't even know the first thing about that."

But it's too late, she's already on her feet and feeling nervous. "Maybe that's what this whole fucking thing is about. Getting us locked in here so you can have me analyzed. What did Saul tell you?"

"Carrie, I swear this isn't what's going on."

"You're lying again."

"You need to breathe, okay? We're just two co-workers talking. That's all. Or it would be if you could stop being so apprehensive for two seconds."

"I work for the fucking _CIA_, being careful is vital."

"Just sit back down" he says, "can you do that, please?"

She considers this, and then thinks about finding something in the room she can use to bust down the door and just get out of here already. But Carrie feels too tired to even argue anymore. She sits back onto the floor and rests her head against the wall behind her.

"I'm not working against you, you know" Quinn says in a soft tone. "None of us are."

She lets out a weak smile. "After that shitstorm that happened last time, I find that hard to believe."

"You can't put that on me. I wasn't here when that happened."

She takes a breath and closes her eyes. "I know."

"Did you mean what you said?" Quinn asks. "About having little motivation to live."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Two-way street, Carrie. We're 'girlfriends' now, remember?"

"And this isn't something I'd ever talk with anyone."

When the room goes quiet again Carrie thinks he's willing to let it go for once. Except that he breaks the silence soon after.

"It's fine, you know. It's human."

She shakes her head at him. "It's a weakness."

"That's not true. It's like in those old cop movies. The guy who thinks he has nothing to lose always goes on to be a protagonist who does amazing shit."

"And then he dies at the end of the movie."

He gives her a knowing look. "You're not going to die. Not anytime soon, at least."

"You can't control that."

"You know that I wouldn't let any bad shit happen to you as long as we work together. I have your back."

She wants to say a few words of appreciation, but they can't find their way out, so she stays quiet.

"Come on, you know you want to say it" Quinn says, nudging her shoulder.

Carrie sighs. "And I have your back too."

"There it is."

She smiles, despite herself. "I'm surprised I said it at all. I think I must be really sleep deprived."

"Well, then I think I kind of like sleep-deprived-Carrie."

They slip back into comfortable silence, waiting for the door to open at any time. But it stays shut, and after a while Carrie feels herself falling asleep. She's letting her guard down and this fact worries her, but the thought is swimming somewhere at the back of her head, floating further and further away. And soon enough she decides to just let go and try to rest.

She wakes with a start, but how later, Carrie can't figure out. The lights have come back on and they're blinding. But it almost doesn't matter because the familiar clank of the door is heard. She feels Quinn touching her shoulder and she rises from her spot on the floor and wordlessly follows him out.

They only manage to take a few steps outside the room when they bump into Estes.

"My office" he says, "now."

Carrie and Quinn exchange a confused look, but they both feel too tired to even bother guessing why they're about to be told off.

"I am disappointed in both of you" Estes says, when they both takes their respective seats.

"And why's that?" Carrie asks, frowning.

"The blackout we experienced wasn't ordinary, it was designed so that we could place groups of our people in a situation of high stress and witness how they're able to aid each other.

"So this was all a test" Carrie says, shooting a glare at Quinn.

"We took the liberty of installing cameras in these rooms. We couldn't get the audio to work, but it wasn't necessary because nonverbal communication revealed what we needed." Estes takes a moment to pace the room. "And you two weren't the only one subjected to this. There were also Saul and Max. And they both acted admirably."

"I'm guessing all Max had to do to earn that was to shut up" Quinn says.

"He had a panic attack. And Saul assisted him." Estes pauses. "And then there's the two of you... who physically assaulted each other."

"It wasn't real fighting" Carrie protests, "it was just a distraction to pass the time, and it was mostly harmless. It was basically training."

Estes draws in close and narrows his eyes. "Then I must be imagining the bruises on both of you."

"Well she did say it was _mostly_ harmless" Quinn says.

Carrie tries to convey a message with her glare, one that tells him to shut up because he's not helping in the least.

"I feel like you two are missing just how important trust and working as a team is, especially when working in this field" Estes says, "which is why I'm sending you both to a team-building conference."

Carrie frowns deeply."But we-"

"A refusal is out of the order."

"With all due respect" Quinn starts, "I don't think this is necessary. We acted perfectly fine the remainder of the time."

"And that's exactly what the CIA needs" Estes says, mockingly "people who can act accordingly... _most_ of the time."

Estes keeps them in his office for a few more minutes, detailing that how they behaved was inappropriate and unprofessional. It all feels like it's taking forever, but Carrie braves it without snapping or talking back, letting it all bubble under the surface.

After one last stern warning, the two are finally dismissed. And once Estes' door closes, and they head on their way, Carrie turns to Quinn and narrows her eyes at him.

"_It's only a blue light, Carrie. Stop obsessing over it_" she says, angry. "If I hadn't listened to you, I couldn't realized that it was a test, and now we have to go to a fucking team-building conference." As if to emphasize her words, Carrie throws a punch in his shoulder.

"Feel better now?" Quinn asks, rubbing his shoulder.

She hates to admit it. "Yeah."

"I told you physical violence is a good way to take the edge off."

"Estes didn't seem to think so."

"Well, fuck the guy." He pauses. "Metaphorically."

Carrie shakes her head at him. "He was right, you know. You really look like shit" she says, glancing at all the bruises.

"Thanks. You too."

"What're you going to tell your ER nurse about all the injuries?"

He takes a moment to think about it. "I don't know. I was mugged or something."

"And are you going to mention that this mugger was female?"

Quinn shrugs. "Whatever increases my chances of having pity sex."

"You know, pity sex is overrated."

"Well I don't have much experience with it, but interesting that you know all about it."

Carrie says nothing, but raises her hand and flicks her fingers on a bruise on his face.

"Okay, _ow_" he says, giving her a dirty look. "That's the last freebie you're getting."

"It's just as well" she says. "What I really need right now is a drink. Or five."

He smiles slightly. "You read my mind."


End file.
